O went the days and nights with us there in the home of Colonel Busby, and I am nearly through with them.
One morning Jo said to me: “I'm sorry that father behaved so last night. It's dreadful. Did he hurt you?”
“Not a bit,” was my answer.
“You are as brave as you can be,” she went on, with a look of shame and sorrow. “It worries me terribly. Oh, dear! I wouldn't marry a man who drinks for all the money in the world.”
“You'd need it to repair the furniture,” I suggested, full of a great joy that she thought me brave.
Her eyes filled with tears, and I remember well the tender dignity with which I took her hand and tried to comfort her. It was a pretty picture, upon my word—the boy and the maiden, and both so clean-hearted.
Well, now, as to Sam and the wedding. We invited a number of Fannie's friends, who were servants in the neighborhood, and made a monster cake and some ice-cream. Sam arrived early, red and uncomfortable, and looking very new in a fresh suit of clothes. His voice, even, was afraid to show itself, as one might say. He held it down near a whisper and had a watchful eye.
Jo and a few of her school-girl friends had decorated the parlor, and spread a table in the dining-room with refreshments. Now they stood looking at Sam.
His eyes filled with alarm as we laid our plans before him.